


tenderness

by Mothbats



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Mild descriptions of death, angry children being angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 13:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18181292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothbats/pseuds/Mothbats
Summary: Tretij Rebenok does not show his face to anyone but Eli.





	tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Another older work migrated in from tumblr. Based on an art piece by hamfootsia, tho due to tumblr's new sensitivities I don't think it's there anymore sadly.

Tretij Rebenok does not show his face to anyone but Eli.

The burns, the scars, the sheer damage that has hollowed him out to the very core of his being; these are the things he went to great lengths to hide, once upon a time. The rest of his body he has learned to give up, inch by inch - Africa is sweltering after all, and his appearance is disarming no matter the clothes it seems - but his face is for Eli alone.

Quite often that means it is hidden behind the gas mask he received so long ago now that the memory seems a blur, but sometimes, when it is just the two of them, Tretij Rebenok will let it fall, breathe air untainted by old plastic filters and see the world without a dingy orange tint. Eli watches him like he’s a beast without a muzzle, wary knowing the extent of the psychic’s powers when unchained; but there is no fear there, not when he knows he still holds the leash. 

That wariness is what brings Eli to jump at the rustle of cloth at the opening of their tent, the humid warm air of the summer night blowing in as one of Eli’s boys comes to see him about something or other. Tretij Rebenok does not understand any of them, their minds a bright tapestry of violence and hunger that Eli weaves to suit his purposes, this messenger falling silent when Eli is on his feet in seconds. Their commander is frightening even in his good moods, but looking at him with a snarl twisting his lips and a knife drawn is enough to make any of his men cower. 

Tretij Rebenok responds to the situation with practiced shyness, curling into himself in the darkness, face hidden by the deep shadows of the tent as his unrestricted power flickers the flame of a nearby lamp. Eli is angry, layers of it brushing over Tretij Rebenok’s mind like silk and velvet, each variation giving way to the next as it evolves. Tretij Rebenok doesn’t quite grasp it at first, this fury - Eli is frequently woken up in the night, this is nothing new. It takes a particularly vivid hiss of foreign words falling off his tongue and the tip of the blade pressing to the interloper’s sternum before Tretij Rebenok could fully taste this particular brand of bitterness. _Jealousy_.

But what did Eli have to be jealous of? Tretij did not have to dig far to see it, having witnessed it once before; Tretij Rebenok was his and his alone, to speak to, to protect, to command. To have someone barge in when Tretij Rebenok was baring his face in secret… if the boy had intended to see him fully, Tretij Rebenok did not doubt that he would be dead by now for treason. Eli was not known for being merciful, and Tretij Rebenok could envision the way he would carve out the boy’s eyes as punishment, slice off his tongue before he could speak of what he saw to anyone else.

To someone as wretchedly starved for anything that could be construed as affection as Tretij Rebenok, this was the closest thing he knew to love.

It was but a breath and Tretij Rebenok was behind Eli, ankles delicately crossed where he hovered with his face pressed into blond hair. At the best of times it still smelled like sweat and musk and campfire smoke, this being no exception, warm and nearly comforting. Mind to mind, Tretij Rebenok relished in the close contact, feeding from the emotional upheaval as his palm slid along Eli’s spine to his shoulder, the bony fingers of his other hand dancing down to Eli’s forearm before holding loosely to it, steadying the knife. Eli seemed somewhat annoyed by the sudden contact, though not enough to do anything about it, Tretij Rebenok glancing out of the corner of his eye at the boy once more.

The stranger was still and silent, tense like an animal about to run. There was only one way this could go since he entered this sacred space of theirs, and Tretij Rebenok grinned against Eli’s filthy scalp, nestling into those emotions that had so drawn him to the other in the first place. Even if it was an accident, Eli had to set examples, didn’t he? He had warned them all so many times not to walk in like this, not to get too close to Tretij Rebenok, no touching, no staring: like a blazing star walking among them, only to be handled by their god. Well, sometimes lessons bared repeating.

Eli moved so quickly that it was like Tretij Rebenok wasn’t there at all, a weightless apparition clinging to his form and bracing his arm as the knife sunk deep into the boy’s throat. There was no fanfare, little more than a gurgle as blood began to well up and spill from cracked lips. When Eli withdrew the unfortunate soul sunk to his knees, clawing at his neck with a desperation that sung beautifully in Tretij Rebenok’s head, reminding him of an antelope caught in the jaws of a lion, knowing death’s hand was on them but struggling nonetheless. Tretij Rebenok could taste the bitterness of futility on his tongue, mulled it over as that foreign mind fell to silence.

Once the unsightly gasping finally ended, Eli inhaled sharply, as if breaking from a trance, a slight shiver echoing through his body as it began to relax. Alone once more. He didn’t seem to notice Tretij Rebenok until he moved to drop the soiled knife, eyes following the way the empath’s arm remained attached to his. They didn’t need to speak the same language for him to understand the soft gloating in Tretij Rebenok’s head, that dark curl of pleasure taken from knowing that Eli was entirely ready to dispose of someone who may have had only the barest of glimpses at the psychic in vulnerability. Wiping his memory or instating a lighter punishment had been beyond Eli in the heat of the moment - the penalty for such a transgression had always been nothing less.

For Tretij Rebenok, love was just like this: stained with blood and dirt and starved possessiveness, the kind that wrapped him up in warmth like a blanket, a shield against those that would harm him. It didn’t bother him that it also held the potential to suffocate him, provided by the one that would kill him before he fell to another’s hands. Tretij Rebenok thinks how he would welcome the knife at his throat next if such a thing ever came to pass.

But for now he coos something sweet and meaningless into Eli’s mind, daring to nuzzle a little more until red strands mix with blond. Eli is gentled under his hands for this one stitch of time and he will take advantage of it, holding tight and breathing in his enrapturement of this one person, the only one deserving of it. The blood slicking their feet is the offering, and Tretij has accepted it wholeheartedly, the spill black as ink in the tent when the lantern gives out.

Hidden from the world, Tretij Rebenok smiles until his scars ache, eyes closed as Eli pulls him down, down, down.


End file.
